Felicity and the First Avenger
by NocturnalRites
Summary: In which Felicity tackles the problem of getting a life for herself outside of the Arrowcave, comes to terms with changes in Team Arrow and her relationship with Oliver and meets a Captain on a mission of his own. Steve Rogers/Felicity Smoak. Stelicity; Olicity (if you squint and for future development) [Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Suspense/Mystery]
1. Chapter 1 - Accentuate the Positive

Setting: **Arrowverse**: This first chapter is post 2x14 in the Arrowverse, pre 2x15 in the Arrowverse (with the exception of when Barry came awake, since that's something changed due to the Flash series, anyway; the love interest is accurate). I'm also taking the liberty of assuming MONTHS go by between 2x14 and 2x15 in the Arrowverse, not just a few hours. **Marvelverse**: About six months post Avengers and CA: The First Avenger. Steve has been up about six months. **This is all pre-CA: TWS.**

Mostly Stelicity in this chapter, with Olicity by reference.

I do not own these characters or properties nor do I profit from this work. All rights and any and all quotes are owned or attributed to DC and Marvel, respectively.

If anyone has ideas or thoughts on any part of this (including suggestions or complaints), feel free to send me a note on Tumblr as NocturnalWrites, comment here, PM me on as nocturnalrites, or e-mail me at nocturnalrites at charter dot net if a public comment here doesn't do it for you. Thanks! Reviews are love! See the of the chapter for more notes.

Song Title: Accentuate the Positive - Johnny Mercer and the Pied Pipers (1944)

#######

**Chapter 1: Accentuate the Positive**

Three tables into the speed dating event, and Felicity Smoak _almost_ wished Oliver would show up with a full quiver of arrows and a grudge.

One arrow for Jake, who lost no time telling her he had nine inches of _best ever_ if she was interested. One arrow for Todd, who leered down the scooped neck of her cherry red sweater and asked her if she felt as good as she looked. Two arrows for Trey, who laughed when she told him she was an IT expert and said the only place women had around computers was onscreen in porn.

Just then, Trey leaned over, the scent of cheap scotch wafting to her with each word. "You know, I love watching hot blondes with red lipstick give blow jobs."

_Make it three arrows for Trey._

Smiling brightly, Felicity put her stiletto heel on his toe and slowly pushed down, grinding the point down until he yelped. Sara had taught her the trick to deal with overly grabby types in crowded places. Though she'd never had the nerve to try it before now, she had to admit, she liked the result. He pulled back, pale and swearing, as the bell rang.

"Hope you've got a video saved, because watching it on your computer is as close as _you're_ going to get," she said sweetly, and got up to change tables.

At the side door she paused, weighing the pros and cons of whether she should sneak away and escape before the coordinators could catch her. She had promised Barry and Iris she'd stick it out and try, _really_ try, to make a connection at this event. She'd even dressed in her brightest colors and highest heels, worn her contacts and used her bravest red lipstick to boost her confidence. Felicity Smoak, manhunter, that was her. But after those three losers, who could fault her for giving up and trying some other time?

If she left, though, she'd have to either go home or go back to the base. There really wasn't time for anything else. She'd spent all weekend at home watching a zombie movie marathon on SyFy until she was sure she was starting to take root on the couch. The base wasn't an option, either. With Digg out with Lyla tonight and Roy and Sara working, it would leave her alone with Oliver. The only thing worse than being alone with Oliver and Sara in the base was being alone with Oliver in the base.

It wasn't that she was jealous. What she felt was _awkward_. Oliver had taken on the mantle of Someone Else's Boyfriend, and that changed everything. When Digg was there, he made a point of making certain she was included in whatever conversation was going on, but when Digg wasn't there, Oliver and Sara often became too absorbed in each other and whatever they were doing to notice she was even there. They weren't unfriendly, just...sufficient unto themselves.

Her few attempts at joining conversations hadn't been as bad as her attempt to join the one in which Digg, Oliver and Sara were comparing scars, but they still weren't stellar. Sara and Oliver often discussed things to which Felicity really couldn't relate, so usually, she'd try to say something, Sara would just smile and Oliver would just be his usual impassive self until she stuttered to a halt, and Felicity would wish she could disappear. They never did more than briefly kiss in front of her, but there were times Felicity felt only her presence was keeping them from doing more. And that _definitely_ made her uncomfortable.

Alone with Oliver, though, was worse. It wasn't just awkwardness; it was constant tension and a low-grade ache in her chest, like a muscle strain that wouldn't ease. She and Oliver were still friends, still friendly, but that was all. She didn't feel comfortable watching him work out any more; it was too close to coveting someone else's partner for her comfort. Worse, every time she did look she heard Moira Queen's cultured alto, tinged with contempt and pity, saying, _'I see the way you look at him.'_ How pathetic must she have appeared to others, for someone like Moira Queen to have had pity on her? Better not to look at all. Felicity had her pride, after all.

Oliver, in turn, kept his distance. She hadn't realized how close they'd stood to each other, how often they'd touched without thinking, until they no longer did so. The affectionate undercurrent was still there, but it was as if both of them had tacitly agreed not to acknowledge it. She doubted he even missed it. He had Sara, after all. She'd been surprised she missed their closeness as much as she did. She'd been so accustomed to being alone, she'd never known she'd been lonely before him.

She knew now what lonely was.

She'd never questioned herself before, either, but she found herself doing so now. Things had gotten a little better since she'd landed her smackdown on Tockman, but constantly feeling like a third wheel had taken its toll. Digg made her feel valued; so did Roy, in his own rough way. But she'd been used to getting validation from Oliver, and that wasn't there anymore.

It wasn't the first time in her life she'd cared more about someone than they'd cared about her, even if she'd never cared as deeply as she did for Oliver. She knew the drill. With enough time and distance, her bruised feelings would heal. In the meantime, she just had to look forward and move on, because that was how Felicity Smoak tackled life. Eventually, things _would_ be better, even if the 'eventually' took longer than she wanted it to take.

_And I'll start moving on by getting through this and not letting three jerks stop me._

Head high, she marched to the next table. As she approached, she nearly collided with her new match's previous date, a woman with striped green hair and what had to be at least two dozen piercings on her lips, eyebrows and nose. The woman grimaced and stuck out her tongue, which was tattooed green, slit back an inch and decorated with a stud on each point. Felicity tried not to wince. That looked painful.

"Good luck with Dull and Boring," the woman told her, not bothering to lower her voice.

Stunned at the rudeness, Felicity was caught too off-guard to think of a suitably cutting remark before the woman brushed past her, but she did manage a sympathetic smile to the man behind the table. He looked as desperate to leave as she was. Unlike the other men present, who were mostly clad in jeans and khakis, he wore a suit. If he was that conservative in his tastes, his previous date had probably left him shellshocked.

As she approached, he visibly collected himself, rose politely and cleared his throat. "May I get your chair, ma'am? I wouldn't normally stop to ask, but I offended the first lady I met tonight by doing that."

"No, you wouldn't offend me at all. That would be great, thanks." Talk about culture shock; from Blowjob McKenzie to Sir Galahad in ten seconds. Only in speed dating. Carefully, she juggled her half-full glass of red wine and her purse around until she could stick out her hand. "I'm Felicity. Felicity Smoak."

Her hand all but disappeared in his, which was callused, dry and solid with muscle. Not unlike Oliver's, actually. Interesting. She wondered what he did for a living.

He offered her a shy, lopsided smile and shook her hand gingerly, as if afraid of squeezing it too hard. "Steve Rogers."

"Nice to meet you," she said automatically, biting her tongue to keep from adding, _At least until you come out with my next dating horror story of the night_. Although, she had to admit he already had more potential than any of the Terrible Trio. He had the kind of square, open face that got labeled honest, direct blue eyes, and short dark blond hair with a stray lock determined to keep falling over his forehead. And _hello_, shoulders. Maybe not _quite_ the spread Digg had, but easily bigger than Oliver.

Quickly, she took a sip of wine to cover her inspection. He did a kind of double take of his own, glancing at her mouth, then quickly looking away, a small crease between his brows.

"So," she said brightly, "Who dragged you into this?"

The hint of a frown vanished in the wake of another half-smile. "That obvious, huh?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I get the feeling you just cased the exits, too."

"Guilty as charged." He laughed ruefully. "My friend Natasha set me up. She said it was that or she was going to fix me up on a blind date. Given most of the people she knows, I thought I'd take my chances here. How about you?"

The laugh transformed him, banishing a weight that had made him seem older than he was, a layer of shadow that had made the strong bones of his face appear harsher than they really were. Different from Oliver's playboy brand of brooding good looks, but attractive, all the same, with a strength of character she could see almost as clearly as his features. He evoked the same feelings in her that Digg and Barry had when she had first met each of them; that he was someone of substance, someone who could be trusted.

A half-beat later, she realized he was waiting for her answer and that she'd been staring. She took another sip of wine to cover her lapse, then grew even more flustered when she noticed him glance quickly again at her lips.

"Some friends of mine, Iris and Barry, suggested it. Well, nagged me into it, really. I guess I shouldn't be surprised Barry thought this was a good idea, since he's all into speed anymore. I don't mean like the drug, speed, he's just. You know. Fast. With everything. Actually, I don't know about everything, but I guess he kind of might be. I dated him a couple of times, but never really _dated_, dated, you know, that didn't work out, and I haven't asked Iris, so..." she huffed a sigh. Poor guy, if he wasn't running for the exits before, he would if she kept this up. "Three, two, one...sorry. I really don't mean for things to come out that way. And you're...blushing."

"Don't worry. I'm still not used to things around here." The corners of his eyes crinkled with humor. "I should be, since everyone I know seems to like to try to see if they can embarrass me. At least you're not doing it on purpose like they do."

"Speaking of embarrassed...do I have something on my face?"

He blinked, taken aback. "No, why?"

"Oh. No offense, but you keep kind of looking at my mouth. I thought maybe I had some spinach stuck between my teeth or something. I checked and did the breath mint thing before this started, but that would be just my luck." She shook her head in frustration as his blush faded and the smile disappeared.

"Oh, no. You look great. Really pretty." He straightened, squaring his shoulders, and avoided her eyes. "I was just noticing your lipstick. Not a lot of women wear it like that now. A beautiful da—uh, woman marching over with a glint in her eye and that lipstick... it all reminded me of someone I used to know."

The lines of his face were stark again, his jaw set. Again, she sensed the shadow, but this time, she could put a name to it: sorrow.

"I'm sorry," she offered after a moment.

"Not your fault." But his smile was a pale imitation of the one she'd seen earlier, a utility expression worn thin from overuse.

The bell rang, signaling her to go to another table.

She sighed. "Guess that's my cue."

He stood when she did, and shook her hand once more when she offered it. The contact lingered a little longer this time.

"I'm glad I got to talk to you, Felicity Smoak," he said sincerely.

Something about how he said it reminded her of Oliver telling her she was remarkable. To her surprise, the memory didn't hurt; it made her smile.

"I'm glad you're glad, Steve Rogers."

She started to walk away, then stopped.

Intuition told her he was going to leave. If he did, she knew with equal certainty she would never see him again.

Logic told her to keep on walking. She didn't know him, didn't know anything about him, only that her instincts told her he was a good man, and something had deeply hurt him. And something about him didn't fit with everyone else around him, not quite. Just what the difference could be both intrigued and puzzled her.

But mystery or not, the very last thing she needed in her life was another beautiful, broken man. Hadn't she learned her lesson with Oliver? Sure, she'd run into some jerks, but there were plenty of other men at the event. Fifteen more, according to her card. No doubt one of them would be decent company, maybe for dinner, maybe for longer than that. She'd laugh and have a good time. Maybe even have a fling. It wouldn't matter, because it wouldn't mean anything.

The last thought made her pause. Oliver's stock phrase. _It didn't mean anything_.

_We never know how much time we have in our lives. If you value yourself, why would you waste your time on someone who's meaningless to you? _

She'd said that to Oliver once, when the subject of Isabel had come up again. He'd frowned and changed the subject. He'd never mentioned the incident or used that phrase to her again.

She'd spent months trying to convince Oliver he was a person of worth and value. Maybe it was time to remind herself she, too, was a person of worth and value. That her contribution to the team was important, if different. She didn't need Digg or Oliver or anyone else to tell her what she was worth; she just needed to believe it herself. And that she, as a woman who knew her worth, deserved nothing less than to be with someone of substance, even if only for a short date. Meaningless numbers games might be Oliver's way, and speed Barry's, but she needed to believe in herself enough to do this _her_ way.

She turned to see Steve picking up his overcoat. Taking a deep breath to shore up her courage, she walked back to his table.

"You know, there's an ice cream parlor around the corner that has homemade ice cream. I don't know about you, but I could really go for some mint chocolate chip about now. Why don't we play hooky and tell our friends we stayed?"

Blue eyes met hers, clear and candid. Slowly, he smiled. A real one this time.

"I'd like that."

####################

I'll be honest and say I know this pairing has not yet been done in this fandom or as a crossover. I'm nervous about posting this and hoping nobody hates it TOO much, because I know just how beloved these characters are to people and I want to do them justice. I do want to make it plain that I consider this Olicity because it deals with the changing relationship between Oliver and Felicity after 2x13, not because I get them together in this story. I consider Olicity a very slow burn, long term development, so this is important to me, too.

**Edit: I'm leaving the previous paragraph, although others have now written about this pairing. I'm glad it took off so well! When I wrote this first chapter back in March, I half expected to get stoned (and not the good kind) from fans in both universes! I'd seen Arrow/Avengers crossovers, but never one between Felicity and Steve. **

**Edit: I'd asked for suggestions on better titles, and since some people told me they thought it was a Marvel/DC dustup instead of what it is, I changed it. Thank you to my dear anonymous friend on Tumblr for this suggestion! Tell me who you are and I'll see you get full credit. :) **

The first spark for this story was the deleted scene from the Avengers where Cap's getting used to life in this time. If you haven't seen it, it's here (spelled out so ffnet won't delete it):

screenrant dot com/avengers-deleted-scene-captain-america/

The second was a preview clip from the Winter Soldier in which Natasha and Steve discuss getting a date for him. The way in which they did it led me to believe this had probably been a long-standing campaign of Natasha's, and she'd probably started right after she met him through the Avengers. I'll refrain from publishing that clip for spoiler reasons, but it's easily available through a Google search, if you haven't already seen TWS.

At the same time, a group of us on Tumblr were discussing how Felicity would handle the changed Arrowcave dynamic. There was another post I wrote about the progression of body language/personal space between Oliver and Felicity throughout the show thus far and the drastic change after 2x13, and yet more discussions in which many of us expressed our wish that Felicity could meet someone outside of the small circle allowed her on Arrow and get her groove back after Oliver and Sara hooked up.

That's when it occurred to me that, different universes aside, I couldn't think of two characters I liked more who deserved to meet each other more than Steve and Felicity. DC girl though I usually am, Cap's always been my favorite superhero, and I'm not sure I've ever liked a superhero (or superhero related) female character more than Felicity. Not only did I think they had a great deal in common, they both needed a break, romantically speaking.

FYI, this story is not about Oliverhate. It is about Oliver-change. He's got a long way to go, IMO, but I really do feel for him. He's struggling with a lot of things for which he's not in the least equipped to handle. But he's trying, even if it's going to be a slow process.

For those who haven't seen CA: The First Avenger in a while, the lipstick refers to Peggy's 40's style bright lipstick. And, in fact, a couple of months after I wrote this first chapter, there was a great article sent around Tumblr about how makeup trends during war were calculated to be used exactly how Felicity used them: to put on a brave face and boost morale. The heavy lipstick and the bright red, in particular, were unique to the war years and a style with which Steve would be very familiar. Chapter titles for Steve-centered chapters are from songs from his era, as well.

I wish I could say I made up the rude comments from the speed daters, but I didn't.

My thanks to my wonderful beta reader for this first chapter, Calliope1975, and to AgeofAquarius, who assured me people wouldn't throw TOO many stones for publishing this, and everyone on Tumblr who contributed to the whole character development and analysis discussions between Oliver and Felicity.

Regardless, I hope everyone enjoys and that I've managed to write this with all with the respect and love these characters deserve.


	2. Chapter 2 - Little White Lies

**A/N: Setting**: **Arrowverse**: This first chapter is post 2x14 in the Arrowverse, pre 2x15 in the Arrowverse (with the exception of when Barry came awake, since that's something changed due to the Flash series, anyway; the love interest is accurate). I'm also taking the liberty of assuming MONTHS go by between 2x14 and 2x15 in the Arrowverse, not just a few hours. **Marvelverse**: About six months post Avengers and CA: The First Avenger. Steve has been up about six months. **This is pre-CA: TWS.**

I do not own these characters or properties nor do I profit from this work. All rights and any and all quotes are owned or attributed to DC and Marvel, respectively.

Song: Little White Lies: perf. Tommy Dorsey and His Orchestra (1937)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes and many thanks.)

##################

**Chapter 2: Little White Lies**

Steve ducked beneath the sun-faded pastel umbrella covering the patio table, narrowly avoiding a fringe of dripping water from the afternoon's rain. Over Felicity's protests, he'd spread his overcoat on the metal bench for her to sit upon. She was perched on one end of his coat, frowning down at one of the flat black plastic rectangles which passed for telephones these days. As he approached, she quickly palmed it and slipped it into her purse.

"One dish of mint chocolate chip for the lady, as requested," he said, handing it over to her before settling in at the other end of the coat. The damp breeze carried her scent to him, something light, warm and flowery.

"My hero," she said fervently.

He did a wary double take at the phrase, relieved to find her expression wasn't the starstruck one he'd come to dread. Sometimes, that look led to embarrassing situations, including random body parts being bared for his autograph. However, she wasn't even looking at him; she was looking at the dessert as if he'd handed her a scoop of pure gold. "Just for ice cream?"

Felicity stabbed her spoon in the air at him. "There is no 'just' when it comes to ice cream, I'll have you know. _Especially_ when it comes to _this _homemade mint chip. Mint chip is the universal cureall and Molly Moon's makes it best. So, yes, for this and for getting me out of Thunderdome without bloodshed, you are my hero, and thank you."

Thunderdome? He thought of making a note of the name to look up later, but decided against it. "Glad to be of service." He toasted her with his own cone and bit into the top scoop. "You run excellent evasive maneuvers for a lady in high heels."

"The byproduct of working for a billionaire who's constantly pursued by paparazzi. You're terrific at blocking and covering, though. Without you, the happy hour crowd in the main bar would have been too handsy for me to manage." She grimaced. "It is Captain Rogers, right? Not Mister?"

"Yes, ma'am," Steve said without enthusiasm. They'd nearly made it out of the bar without being noticed, but the event coordinator had caught him just inside the main door and asked for an autograph for her son. He'd just managed to get Felicity into the front entry, so he'd thought there was a better than average chance she hadn't heard the request or seen him sign the little plastic shield. Maybe he'd been wrong.

"Good." She carved a neat divot into the side of her ice cream. "Not that Mr. Rogers wasn't a fantastic guy and all, because he was, but I'd always think about the Neighborhood of Make Believe and Trolley. Also, I can't see you rocking a cardigan. Not that you couldn't if you wanted to, I mean. Rock a cardigan. Or. Well. Anything else." Quickly, she popped the spoonful into her mouth, cutting herself off.

"Right," Steve said noncommittally, hoping to cover the fact he had no idea what she meant. At least he'd heard this reference, but it still wasn't one he knew.

He waited a couple of beats to see if she'd ask one or more of the usual questions. If he was Captain America, which would have been fine. What he thought of the world of today, which wasn't his favorite, but acceptable. If he'd really been frozen, and what that had been like, which made him feel like a Neanderthal. Or, his least favorite, morbidly eager questions about the war or how he'd liked killing Nazis. Especially when they were asked by adults who should know better in front of a bunch of kids who didn't.

Empty questions, all of them. He'd learned to give stock, positive answers to them, because nobody wanted the truth and besides, he didn't want to complain. The result was repetitive conversations which ended once people satisfied their curiosity and realized they had nothing in common with him. There were days he felt like a talking exhibit in a time travel zoo.

But she said nothing, maintaining a companionable silence. Instead, she scooped out a careful amount and ate it, head tilted back, eyes half-closed in bliss as she relaxed. Slowly, she drew the white spoon from between her red lips. With a flicker of pink tongue, she caught a stray chocolate chip and ate that, too, before extracting another precise amount from the dessert.

Steve blinked, completely at a loss for words. If she'd been at all aware of him, he'd've thought she was trying to vamp him, but he'd bet his shield none of it was for his benefit. He knew he was less than perceptive at knowing when women were flirting with him, but he _was_ an expert in knowing when women weren't paying attention to him. He could tell as far as she was concerned, he didn't exist right now. Her air of delight made him almost ashamed for finding what she was doing to be that, well, _erotic_. Or for wondering if she looked like that in other circumstances, for that matter. At the same time, the artist in him wanted to grab a pen and start sketching to capture the scene and make notes about color.

He settled for eating a bite of ice cream that was a lot less cold than he wished it was, then clearing his throat.

"You weren't, uh, kidding about ice cream, were you?"

She jumped, adding a darker shade of pink to the scene with her blush. "Sorry," she said, so self-consciously he felt guilty for the interruption. Catching herself, she sat up straight, set her chin and defiantly dug out another scoop. "But no, ice cream is not just ice cream. Ice cream's the window to the soul."

"I thought that was the eyes."

"Right. Like those work," she scoffed. "People can look at you and lie with their eyes all the time. Ice cream choices and computers, now, those never lie."

Computers. He winced. Better to stick to what he _did_ know. "So, what does the mint chip say about you?"

"That I'm in dire need of a broad-spectrum mood antibiotic." A hint of dimples bracketed a wry almost-smile. "What did you get?"

"Vanilla. Don't worry, you won't hurt my feelings," he said, amused. "I've already been told it means I lack imagination."

A couple of days after the battle in New York, before everyone had scattered, Steve had gotten everyone together over ice cream sundaes for a meeting to discuss their various destinations. Tony had used the occasion for a monologue about links between frozen desserts and sexual preferences, complete with more detail than Steve had ever wanted to hear, especially in mixed company. Thor had reminisced about various frozen Asgardian delicacies which may have been delicious but sounded more exotic than Steve's digestion could handle, which was saying something given he'd spent most of a year eating K-rations and whatever he and the Howling Commandos could scavenge. Natasha had passed on the ice cream, but showed Clint how she could tie a cherry stem into a double knot with only her tongue. Clint had drowned whatever he had in every cavity-causing topping available and Bruce, caught mid-experiment, kept using the napkins for equations and probably didn't know there was ice cream in the bowl at his elbow, period.

Not a terribly successful team-building experiment, Steve had to admit. Although it did make him think Felicity had a point.

"Only people with no vision would say that about vanilla," Felicity scoffed. "I have all kinds of respect for vanilla. Vanilla is the building block of ice cream, the absolute _essential_ of ice cream. Vanilla is for _experimenters_. There's absolutely nothing that doesn't taste amazing on vanilla. You can pour chocolate syrup all over it, you can smother it with whipped cream, you can drizzle it with honey..." she shrugged. "Vanilla's flexible."

"I hadn't thought of it that way." He polished off the last of his first scoop. "Makes me glad to be a vanilla guy." He stopped, concerned, as she choked on her next mouthful. "Are you okay?"

"Er. Yes." She shot a quick, wary look at him from beneath lowered lashes, then added under her breath, "Now I know how everyone _else_ feels when _I_ do that."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing," she said hastily. "But anyway, that's not what I meant. I mean, I don't know about you, but I am _definitely_ in comfort food mode, and since you're not picking something more exotic, I'm guessing you are, too. So, what about vanilla comforts you?"

Taken off guard by the question, Steve studied the remains of his ice cream. Double-dip vanilla on a waffle cone, the special treat of all treats when he was a kid. For a widowed mother with a sickly son, that extra five cents for ice cream had been hard to come by, especially during the early Depression. After she'd died and he'd gone to the orphanage, ice cream had become a distant memory. Sometimes, when he and Bucky had managed to scrape together enough money, they'd go watch the Dodgers and treat themselves to an ice cream on a hot summer afternoon.

A hug and a smile from his mother, before she'd become so frail and thin from the tuberculosis. Hot summer days with fire hydrants open on the streetcorners. Cheering on his favorite team with his best friend. Memories he hadn't stopped to think about, in the rush of the new world around him. Comforting, but not sad. Exactly what he needed.

"Good times," he answered finally, and smiled at her. "Thanks."

She tilted her head a little and met his eyes, smiling back in a way that made him feel pleasantly warm again. "You're very welcome, sir."

A blare of noise from her purse made them both jump. _And there are crooks and criminals..._

She glared at her purse, then fumbled out her phone and flicked her fingers over the glassy surface. The noise stopped. "I'm so sorry. I have to get this."

"Be my guest."

She turned partially away, tucking a lock of hair behind one ear as she did so. He could almost see the tension coiling back down her spine as she spoke. Steve listened, mentally filling in the blanks while he finished his cone.

"_What?_ Wait. Roy? Roy, why are you using this phone? _No_, Roy, do _not_ tell him. _I _am telling you that you officially know nothing because it's none of his business where I am. I don't care. He'll survive." She pinched the bridge of her nose, waiting. "Really. Fine. The key card is under the third monitor. Yes, on your left." A pause, then with studied patience, "No, your _other_ left." Another pause, followed by a defeated sigh. "Fine, but I'm taking my time. He does not get to make me rude to my dates and spoil my evening more than he already is because – no, Roy, I will not answer that."

She stabbed the phone with her finger as if she wished she had a dagger to use instead before shoving it back into her purse.

"The billionaire boss?" He'd overheard too many conversations from Tony's end with Pepper not to be able to fill in the gaps.

"On behalf of the billionaire boss, who was too cowardly to do it himself, but yes." She looked at him with mingled apology and regret. "I have to at least start heading to my car. I'm so sorry."

"No, I understand. May I walk you there?"

He was pleased to see how she brightened at the offer. "That would be great," she said. "Although I had to park pretty far away. Sure you don't mind?"

"It'll be fine." Standing, he tossed his remaining napkins into a nearby trash can, then helped her to her feet. "Shall I throw that away for you?"

She held up her small bowl, with one neat green bite remaining. "Would you like to try it? I'm always willing to convert new believers to the Church of the Holy Mint Chip."

He didn't care one way or the other, but he was willing to try since it seemed to please her. "Why not?"

"Do you want me to get you another spoon so you don't catch my cooties?"

He was glad to see she was smiling again. "I never catch anything," he said truthfully, taking the dish. The plastic spoon bore a perfect red imprint of her lips around the bowl, and he barely registered the taste as more than _good_ because he was trying not to think about how close it was to an indirect kiss. She watched him, head tilted inquiringly.

"So, do I have a convert?"

"Absolutely." He began to turn to throw the dish away, but she put a hand on his arm.

"Hold still. Chocolate chip," she said briskly.

As she raised a finger to the corner of his mouth, reflexes took over, calculating trajectory to where the chip probably was. Without thinking, he licked at the spot just as she placed her finger on the chip, catching chocolate and brushing her skin with the tip of his tongue.

Her eyes widened and her hand stayed in the air for a full second too long before she hastily brought it down. Taking a considerably deeper breath than normal himself, Steve quickly turned to toss the small dish at the trash, shield-style. The small disk spun and landed on the edge before slowly tipping into the can. He stared at it for a second, feeling betrayed. Able to boomerang a shield around corners, and almost fluffing a simple toss. Must be something to what the drill sergeant used to say about getting women in your head.

He turned back to find she was holding his coat, nails bright spots of red tipped with orange against the brown fabric, looking anywhere but at him. He looped it over his right arm and offered his left elbow to her. Hesitantly, she slipped her hand around it, as if not quite certain where it should rest, ending up closer than he expected. He racked his brain for something to break the silence and to distract himself from the softness against his elbow.

"Int—" He quickly cleared his throat, getting rid of gruffness. "Interesting nails."

"Yeah! I have to keep them short all the time because I type so much, but there's no reason I can't still be kind of fun and funky with them, right? And I chip it all off so fast anyway, there's not much point in keeping a professional manicure on them..." she trailed off.

He couldn't help but laugh, feeling more at ease as he did. For a change, he wasn't the only one who was flustered.

"I'm seeing a pattern here," he teased. "So that's what you do when you're nervous?"

"Today's a good day. Sometimes, it's worse." Biting her lower lip, she slanted a sidelong, embarrassed glance up at him. "I _am_ sorry. I didn't mean to get all up into your personal space there."

His attention fixed on the small white teeth sinking into soft, red fullness for a split second longer than he knew was polite and he thought for a split second longer than comfortable of the taste that would linger there. This time, he remembered to clear his throat _before_ he spoke.

"That's all right. I didn't mind." Quickly, he added, "I appreciate your looking out for the welfare of my suit."

She visibly relaxed. "It's habit. Oliver's the worst for getting things on his suits just before board meetings and things and we have a real cat of a business partner who likes to make snarky comments about it."

"Oliver?"

"My boss. Oliver Queen."

"That would be the billionaire you mentioned?"

"One and the same."

For a second, her expression mirrored what it had been when she'd mentioned eyes which lied. He hesitated, thinking again of Tony and Pepper. "Are you..."

"Don't even finish that sentence. I should probably rent a billboard somewhere for as many times as I get that question." She rolled her eyes, exasperated. "_No_. I do _not_ like Oliver Queen and he is definitely _not_ interested in me. We're just friends. And he's my boss. I do a lot of IT work for him. Computer stuff. We...we had some problems with corporate espionage when he first took over and he brought me in as his assistant to get it at the source. I'm the best." Though her claims of corporate espionage rang a little hollow to him, she said the last with a note of genuine pride.

"Kind of surprises me you're not working with Tony Stark. I thought he had the market cornered on computer geniuses."

"Ew, no."

He hid a grin with difficulty. What he wouldn't give to have Tony hear _that_. She sounded as if he'd suggested she eat a bug. A big one. "Ew?"

"Stark Industries tried to hire me out of MIT." She shrugged uncomfortably. "They always target the high and early grads, I'm told, and they liked my senior project, too."

"What was it?"

She took a deep breath and singsonged the answer almost too quickly for him to hear. "Computer programming related to DNA based self-assembly and nanorobotics. Don't worry," she added quickly before he could comment. "I know it doesn't make for good date talk. And it was all just theory, anyway."

"_I'm_ impressed," he said, meaning it. Her glance up at him this time was wary, unconvinced.

"Well, you're taking it well. Most guys glaze over and start running for the door when they hear that," she said, her tone light and humorous.

Humorous, but not joking, he judged, and felt a pang of sympathy. If there was one thing he did understand, it was that kind of rejection. In her case, men saw the outside and ran from the inside; in his case, women had run from the outside and now, didn't see past it. Yet no one, judging by how they both looked now, would ever guess they'd had a reason to be rejected at all.

"Didn't make Stark Industries run for the door, right?"

"I wish." She made a comical face. "No, it was a mess. Somehow the pushy hiring department got word to Tony Stark, and then _he_ started in. The word 'no'? Apparently, not one of his favorites."

Steve barely suppressed a snicker himself. _That_ had to be one of the biggest understatements he'd ever heard. "So, how'd you get him to listen?"

She ducked her head self-consciously, the corners of her mouth teasing up in a tiny smile. "I _may_ have hacked his company e-mail server and sent a broadcast e-mail to his entire company listing the word in 15 different languages and telling him to get a dictionary for any translations he didn't understand. I'm told Ms. Potts printed copies. She was actually very nice to me. It all apparently happened while she was out of town or she said she would have collared him earlier."

He thought of what Tony's reaction had to have been and burst out laughing himself. He'd have to ask Pepper if she still had any copies. "That's great. So, other than pushy, though, what was your objection to Stark? I'm told he treats his employees well, and, no offense, it sounds like you really would have been a good match."

"He would be, now, since he's into clean energy. At the time, though, Stark Industries was all about weapons, and I didn't want to work for a weapons dealer."

His mirth died. "Do you have something against weapons?" He tried and, he thought, mostly succeeded in keeping the edge out of his voice. _There are those who would say_ I'm_ a weapon partially designed by Stark Industries. Partially created, definitely._

"Nope. I'm very pro-weapon, provided it's in the right hands and used for the right reasons. I don't– I mean, I wouldn't mind designing weapons for a good cause. Weapons _dealers_ sell to anyone with money, including the bullies of the world. I don't like bullies, so I didn't want my work equipping them. Oops!" A small card fluttered from the edge of her purse to the ground.

"Got it." He stooped to pick it up and skimmed it. "Ice breaking questions for speed dates? Do you want this?"

"Well, I don't want to litter..." She stopped, eyes passing rapidly over the card. A tiny frown line cut between her brows as she took it from his hand. "Sure."

He tried for humor, wondering as he did what caused her reaction. "Well, I read the first one, anyway. What would you bring with you on a desert island?"

"Oh, _no_, please, no. _No_ desert island questions. _Ever_. If I never hear anything again about an island of _any _sort, unless the words, 'Hawaii,' 'Aruba' and 'all expenses paid five star vacation' are involved, it'll be too soon." Under her breath, she added, "And I'd better be able to get there in something that isn't a flying orange crate."

"Okay. No desert islands." Taken a little aback by her vehemence, he peered over her shoulder at the card, picking another question as an excuse to try to figure out what caused her reaction. "Presents on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, then."

"I'm Jewish, so, neither."

He eyed her askance. "You're not making this very easy, you know."

"I'll have you know I'm very eas –" She bit her lip again and closed her eyes briefly. "Three...two...Probably Christmas Eve unless there's a Chrismukkah thing. I don't like unsolved mysteries. You?"

"Christmas morning. I'm all about the surprises and unwrapping," he said absently, trying to get another glimpse of the card. The questions all seemed pretty inane to him, nothing which should have rattled her. Had one of the questions caused her to suddenly connect the dots about him? "Have I done something to offend you? You seem a little bothered, all of a sudden."

"You? Oh! No." She tucked the card more securely under her thumb. "I – just thought of something. It's not you at all. Really."

"Have anything to ask me?"

Again, he half expected her to give him one of the questions most people did, but she glanced briefly at the card again instead. Which meant she hadn't really read the questions, and they weren't what had suddenly troubled her. Interesting. It also meant she'd told the truth about something else bothering her, not him. Come to think of it, there were a lot of things she _hadn't_ asked him. Where he was from. About his family. Basic questions someone would be expected to ask when they first met someone...

...unless she already knew the answers. Or thought she did. But he would have expected a reaction, a comment. Some acknowledgement.

Unless she'd figured it out and truly didn't care. But that was almost too good to be true.

"Ah...most reckless thing you've ever done."

He considered for a moment. He didn't miss how intently she watched him. As Captain America, there were a thousand examples from which he could have picked – _reckless_ was a relative term for anyone in his line of work – but really only one as Steve Rogers.

"I let a very rich friend of mine take me for a test drive of a new sports car."

Her eyebrows raised. "You get shot at for a living and _that's_ what you chose?"

"Trust me." By the time he'd escaped from the Lamborghini, he was certain he'd gotten grey hairs in spite of the super serum. In fact, he was convinced Tony Stark shouldn't even have a driver's license, much less be allowed near an automobile. _And this is the guy we allow to have an armored flight suit_. _With weapons. _ "I'm sure your billionaire boss drives the same way, right? I don't know much about Oliver Queen, but he's kind of a playboy, isn't he?"

"I wouldn't know how Oliver drives his toys." She shrugged. "Executive assistants get the town cars, sometimes the limos and rarely, the private jet. Sports cars and motorcycles are strictly for girlfriends and arm candy. And, by the way, here's my ride." She stopped beside a small red car and turned, smiling up at him. "Thank you for walking me out and for the ice cream and...well, for listening to me babble."

"I liked hearing what you had to say," he said honestly. "So...do you like motorcycles?"

She paused. "I don't know. I've never ridden one."

There was the faintest echo of wistfulness to the words, one that nobody else but a fellow former wallflower would have caught. For all she denied any relationship between herself and her boss, he still had the feeling she'd done her share of watching other women ride away in the sports car or on the back of that motorcycle while wishing she could be in the spot of the best girl. He found it nearly impossible to believe that a woman who looked as she did would ever have been passed over as he once had been, but society, he thought, was never kind to the exceptional.

And, perhaps, Oliver Queen was just as shallow as his press made him out to be.

The difference between Felicity and himself, he thought, was that she'd developed the courage to start reaching out and not be ignored, which was more than he'd ever done socially. If she could, though, perhaps so could he.

He took a deep breath, apprehension making his guts writhe. Asking a woman out on a date was something he hadn't done in years, not since he'd figured out most women didn't go for 98 pound asthmatics. Even knowing how much his appearance had changed since then didn't help. He really thought he'd rather face another regiment of Chitauri. Compared to women, combat was easy.

"I have one, if you'd like to go out some time. I mean, a motorcycle. For a ride." He rubbed nervously at his forehead. "A date, I mean."

Her eyes widened, startled. He counted heartbeats and forced himself not to withdraw the invitation before she could say no. Then she gave him a smile that was a gift all on its own.

"I'd really like that," she said softly, a faint echo of surprise in her voice. "Thank you."

He really hoped his answering grin wasn't as silly as it felt. "Let me get your number, and we'll figure out when."

"Oh. Here." She dug two cards out of her purse along with a pen and handed all three to him. "My number's on that. If you don't worry about my being a mad stalker, you can write yours on the back of the second one, if you want. But I do have two conditions."

"What's that?" He scrawled his number on the back of the second card, then handed the pen and card back to her.

"First, that you call me Felicity, not ma'am. Second, that you let me pay for something. I really should have paid for tonight, since I invited you. I'm not my billionaire boss, but I can afford my part of a date."

"What gentleman would ask a lady to pay on a date?" he asked, shocked.

"You're kidding, right?"

"This isn't like my pulling out that chair for the first woman I met tonight, is it? You're not going to get offended and change your mind if I say no?"

"No, but I may faint."

He chuckled at her wry tone, relieved. Of all the problems he'd had since he'd been unfrozen, adjusting to the changes in behavior and etiquette was one of the most difficult. At least the battle in New York and his work for S.H.I.E.L.D. afterwards had reassured him that he could still trust his reactions in combat. Outside of work, though, his ingrained manners too often worked against him and he found himself mired in social quicksand. One of the many ways the world had moved on without him.

She turned to her car door, paused, turned again. "I do have one question."

"Ask it."

"So, what do you do for a living?"

Words rose to his lips and stopped. Now that she'd asked, he found didn't have any idea of how to phrase the answer in a way that didn't sound like bragging. He didn't want to lie, either. Not only did that go against his grain, he was also pretty certain she knew and this was a test of some sort. Why else mention his getting shot at for a living?

But what if he was wrong? As more than one person had observed, he'd never been good at talking to women. Maybe he could tell her later, over the phone, when they weren't actually face to face. That might be easier. He couldn't remember having had a date even before he'd been frozen which had gone so well. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin the evening.

To almost everyone else he'd met, he was an oddity, a science experiment, or, in most cases, a legend, which bothered him most. He'd never felt he'd done anything to deserve that kind of respect. Even to the Avengers, he was Cap, then a teammate and only then, a person, and one to whom they often had difficulty relating.

He thought of how people acted around him once they found out what he did. Of what a difference it made to be treated as a person instead of as a legend with a shield. He took a deep breath and met her bright, expectant gaze.

"I work for the government. You could call me a security consultant. They call me in to deal with special problems." He could feel the back of his neck getting hot, as it always did when he lied, even though, technically, it was the truth.

Blue eyes searched his, as if hoping against hope that she'd been wrong about being able to trust what she read there. He wondered if her small sigh meant she'd decided she could or if she couldn't.

"All right," she said. "Call me, and we'll get together."

He exhaled a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, feeling he'd dodged a bullet more lethal than HYDRA's energy beams. Then he realized she seemed to be waiting for something. Did she mean for him to kiss her good night? Most women wouldn't have considered that before a third date, at least, in his day, if then, although things had changed a bit, with the war...

Suddenly, she laughed, the sound effervescent as champagne. "I have the worst luck waiting on these," she complained good-naturedly. Before he could figure out what she meant, she tiptoed up and kissed him softly on the cheek. "Good night, Steve Rogers."

"Good night...Felicity Smoak."

She flashed him another quick smile, then got in her car and drove away. He watched the taillights glow red in the gathering twilight, dwindling until they were gone. At peace. Maybe even happy.

Tonight, he'd felt _normal_, for the first time since he'd bolted from that 1940's sham of a hospital room and run into a world of the future he was in no way prepared to face. Tonight, with her, he'd just been a man with a pretty girl, enjoying her conversation and the attraction between them on a cool spring night. Even what they'd done was what they would have done in his time; bars, in his day, were just where you went to drink with your friends.

Natasha had been right. Maybe getting away for a while from the ghosts in New York, from the memories which haunted him in Washington, was the best thing for him. Perhaps he couldn't have the life he'd once thought he'd have, back in 1942 when he was a sickly, skinny young man desperate to prove himself, to be useful, to make the father he'd never known proud of him.

But at least he finally felt as if he'd rejoined the world instead of just struggling to exist. That was a good start.

##################

Thanks to AgeofAquarius and Calliope1975 for betas, to Tregun, Hipkarma and LadyofGlencairn for tons of links and Marvel information, listening ears and plot support. To my many friends in the Tumblr community who've been such wonderful examples and helped me keep my sanity, and to everyone who wrote, PMed and commented to let me know this was a pairing they enjoyed.

This is my one and only warning, because I don't want to mislead anyone: some entries of this multi-part story will be Olicity; some may not sit well with Oliciters. Much of what *will* be Olicity, at least in the beginning, is because it's an interaction I think is important for growth and development between Felicity and Oliver so the relationship can happen at all. But be aware: there's going to be a long path before that happens, and I do promise things will eventually get smutty, and not in a direction all Oliciters will want. I reiterate that I am a firm Oliciter...but I also see that as an end goal, and always have. I want them happy when they get there. There will be HEA's all around, for everyone, Cap included. I don't think anyone will be disappointed.

Questions from commenters I hope this answers: Why Felicity isn't working for Stark Industries in this combined 'verse, especially since she designs weapons and such for Oliver. I actually did not engineer her dislike of bullies to match Steve's famous one. I've always had it as headcanon (and many do, I think) that she's probably had to deal with more than her fair share, as a very bright (and very pretty) child who was probably promoted far past the rest of her peers and had a dicey home life.

Also: Someone actually did do a somewhat similar thesis to Felicity's, though the author was not credited.

Felicity ringtone: from 'Good Guys and Bad Guys' by Camper Van Beethoven.


	3. Chapter 3 - Someone to Watch Over Me

**Summary:**

Unexpected connections and complications arise, identities revealed, and the Arrow and Captain America meet. In which everyone's watching out for Felicity, but nobody has the full picture. In short: There's no such thing as just a date when you work for a superhero. Or date one. (Stelicity and Olicity)

A/N: Setting: **Arrowverse**: This first chapter is post 2x14 in the Arrowverse, pre 2x15 in the Arrowverse (with the exception of when Barry came awake, since that's something changed due to the Flash series, anyway; the love interest is accurate). I'm also taking the liberty of assuming MONTHS go by between 2x14 and 2x15 in the Arrowverse, not just a few hours. **Marvelverse**: About six months post Avengers and CA: The First Avenger. Steve has been up about six months. This is all pre-CA: TWS. **AoS**: References through 1x10.

If anyone has ideas or thoughts on any part of this (including suggestions or complaints), feel free to send me a note on Tumblr as NocturnalWrites, comment here, PM me on as nocturnalrites, or e-mail me at nocturnalrites at charter dot net if a public comment here doesn't do it for you. Thanks! Reviews are love!

I do not profit from this fiction and all rights belong to DC and Marvel.

Song Title: Someone To Watch Over Me – George Gershwin (1923) (rec: Ella Fitzgerald)

(See the end of the chapter for many thanks and more notes.)

**Chapter 3: Someone to Watch Over Me**

"Digg, is there some reason you've been holding up the lobby wall all afternoon?"

"Yep." Digg turned a page of his magazine. "Never know when the building might collapse."

Felicity sighed in equal parts affection and exasperation. "You know, the only reason you're not the worst liar I know is that I also know Oliver."

"Might also be that someone mentioned you were going out with a new boyfriend on his motorcycle." Although Digg's voice was carefully neutral, Felicity got the impression his mental image was more that of a Hell's Angel on a Harley than of Oliver on his Ducati.

"_Sara_." Felicity wanted to hit her forehead against the desk. The night before, she'd asked Sara for advice on what would be safe to wear while riding. She'd made Sara promise not to mention anything to Oliver, but she hadn't thought to include Digg. As protective as the Canary was of women in general and of the team in particular, it wasn't surprising she'd gotten Digg to do an extra safety check. "But I didn't tell her where I was meeting him."

"Might also have been that when you asked for a ride this morning, I figured you'd be meeting him here." Digg eyed her over his magazine. "I agreed with Sara that if you were going off to some deserted area with a near-stranger, I should at least get a visual on him. Never hurts to be careful."

"I'm meeting him here instead of at my house, where I'd be alone. It's a public place, even if neither you nor Oliver were supposed to be here. Besides, who does the background work for you people? Believe me. He checks out." She'd tried to go to sleep early the night before, but her mind had refused to cooperate. Instead, she'd succumbed to temptation and Google and ended up getting so caught up in the wealth of old articles and newsreels about Steve that she'd stayed up well into the night.

"Good. Then he'll check out with me, too." Digg turned another page, an immovable object in business dress.

Felicity tried to curb her anxiety. While she was fully capable of taking care of herself, she usually appreciated Digg's protective streak. Her father had been the last person in her life to care about her safety, and he'd abandoned Felicity and her mother when Felicity was still a child.

The suspicious older brother with the shotgun routine, however, she could do without, especially when it meant risking Oliver-level interference. She could at least trust Digg to be polite. Not so Oliver. After he'd nearly ruined her one and only date with Barry, she wasn't _about_ to give him a second chance.

"Digg, if you're not outside of that meeting waiting for Oliver, you know he'll come upstairs to look for you. All I want is to be gone before Oliver gets here. Fair?"

"I'll just meet him, and I'll be gone like a cool breeze," Digg promised. Putting the magazine aside, he folded his arms across his chest. "Unless there's some reason you don't want me to meet this person, Felicity?"

She shot him her best _don't be an idiot_ look. "Of course not."

"Is there some problem with him?"

"I wouldn't exactly call it a problem," she hedged. "There's a small...identity issue, that's all. It's...complicated."

"Really." Digg made it a one-word masterpiece of skepticism.

"He said he had something to discuss with me when he called last night, but I barely had time to figure out a time to meet. He called at a really bad time. As in, I was creating distractions in the SCPD for Roy so he could steal records for Officer Lance kind of bad time." The incongruity still made her shake her head in disbelief. "And there's a sentence I never thought I'd say."

"Probably no more unbelievable than Roy's risking his neck doing favors for the guy who's got the record for arresting him the most times." Digg carefully leaned against the corner of her desk. "Times and people change. Speaking of which..."

Felicity crossed her arms and leaned back in her Aeron chair. She knew that tone of voice. "Oliver asked you to play Dr. Phil again, didn't he?"

"Look, I know things have been kind of rough around the foundry lately. Even Oliver's noticed, and you know what that takes."

"A two by four to the back of the head? One studded with a few nails to push the point home?"

"Maybe not quite that much." The corner of Digg's mouth kicked up a little. "I told him he should talk to you if he was bothered. He says he's asked you a few times if there was anything you wanted to talk about with him, and you've said no."

"That would be because the answer's no." Which was accurate; she still cringed at her painkiller-induced admission about wanting to be his girl. Not so much what she'd tried to say, but how she'd ended up saying it. At least Oliver hadn't brought _that_ up with her. Although it could have been worse. She could have wailed _why don't you like me anymore?_ like a schoolgirl whose bestie had stopped wanting to sit with her at lunch.

"Felicity." Digg stared at her until she sighed and looked back up at him. "I believe you when you say the problem's not Sara and Oliver being together. I get being uneasy with new dynamics. Happens all the time when you get personnel changes on an ops team. I'm even glad you're taking some steps to get out. You need to work on getting more of a life outside of the night work."

"I sense a 'but' coming."

"But –"

"And, there it is."

He paused, as if choosing over his words. "I want you to be careful, that's all. Sara mentioned you'd met a rough character or two last night. Don't do anything you'd regret on the rebound. I mean, first, there was Barry –"

Just as well she wasn't standing, Felicity thought. She wasn't certain she could have suppressed the urge to kick herself. She'd thought the Canary would appreciate that she'd lamed a lamer, not thinking of any assumptions Sara might have made as a result.

"They weren't _rough_. One was a jerk. I handled him. And Barry wasn't a problem. I admit, what happened wasn't exactly what I expected –" he raised his eyebrow, but she forged on, ignoring it, "—but he'd known Iris for years. I even helped Caitlin get them together. The cartoon hearts circling their heads every time they looked at each other were ridiculous, and both of them were too shy to say anything."

"And then there's whatever is bothering you about Oliver," Digg finished. "You can't say you're not at least upset at him about something."

"Again, not rebounding. More like...trying to find a new equilibrium." She shook her head. "I guess I just thought we were closer than he thinks we are. And he just...changed. He's pulled back, and I don't know why. I'm not sure what's bothering him, but I'm not the only one not communicating here. So take it up with him."

"I give." Digg shook his head in weary resignation. "So, who is the mystery man, anyway?"

"Actually..." Felicity fidgeted. "I don't know how to introduce him. I think you might know him, since you were in the Army. I mean, not that you know him, _know_ him, obviously, or I wouldn't have to introduce him. I figured out who he is, but he doesn't know I did, I don't think, and I don't know if he didn't tell me because he was trying to do some kind of secret identity thing or if he had some other reason for not telling me who he is."

Digg rubbed at a spot between his eyes. "Pretend none of that gave me a migraine and start over. What's his name?"

"Steve Rogers."

Both she and Digg looked to the doorway. Steve all but filled the area by the opened glass door, his hair wind ruffled, thumbs hooked into the pockets of illegally well-fitting jeans. After a polite nod to Digg, he ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck, clearly chagrined.

"I wanted to tell–" he began, just as she said, "I figured—"

They broke off, both laughing a little self-consciously, caught in an exchange of glances that lasted just long enough to start excitement fizzing. Bouncing to her feet, she snagged her bag from the back of her chair and started to him, only to be brought short by Digg's cough. She stopped, little embarrassed that she'd forgotten he was there, even momentarily.

"Steve, this is –" Her jaw almost went slack as she saw Digg was grinning like a kid. She'd _never_ seen Digg drop so much of his usual dignified reserve.

"Sergeant John Diggle." Digg snapped Steve a salute. "It's an honor to meet you, Captain. My grandfather was one of your Howling Commandoes. Gabe Jones."

Straightening, Steve returned it just as crisply, his leather jacket creaking with the movement. "I'll be a son of...the honor's mine, Sergeant."

"John. Or Digg, as they call me around here." He and Digg exchanged a quick double-pump handshake.

"Steve."

If she'd thought Steve's usual smile changed him, it was nothing compared to how his face lit at Digg's words. Even his demeanor changed subtly, becoming more relaxed and self-assured, as if he was finally on familiar ground. Felicity was glad now she'd spent so much time reading about him; this was the confident, affable hero she'd seen in the newsreels.

Had she not seen those images, she never would have known how much he'd managed to conceal under that polite, pleasant manner. Anyone else she'd ever met would have poured out everything to a sympathetic ear. Instead, he'd smiled and even laughed and listened to her babble about ice cream, of all stupid things, as if his world had never been ripped out from under him.

_Someone who shares his strength but not his pain. _Swallowing against a sudden ache in her throat, she snapped back out of her thoughts.

"...thought Trip was telling stories when he said how little you'd changed from Grandpa's photos," Digg was saying. "My cousin, Antoine Triplett. He's working ops in S.H.I.E.L.D., up with Agent Garrett. Said he got to meet you briefly in New York, after the invasion."

"I don't remember anyone I met saying anything about Gabe," Steve began.

"Ah, Trip wouldn't have mentioned it if anyone else was around. Doesn't like the thought of getting special treatment because he's a legacy. Can't blame him, that's one reason my brother Andy and I went Army. But the main reason we all three went into service was all the stories Grandpa told about you and his time in the Commandoes. Got to admit, though, we were never sure if half of what he claimed happened was true. Grandpa was a little fonder of a good sounding story than strict truth."

Steve laughed. "He usually told the truth about combat, at least in front of us. He usually saved the exaggeration for, ah, other stories." He glanced at Felicity and cleared his throat politely, the implication clear that those stories weren't for mixed company, at least not by his standards. "People gave me credit for taking down the Skull's plane, but fact is, Gabe's the one who took down HYDRA's contact, Zola. Without Zola, we wouldn't have gotten the information we needed to find HYDRA's last base and stop the bombing."

Out in the lobby, the elevator dinged. Felicity's stomach plummeted. _Not Oliver. Please, not Oliver. Let it be anyone, even Isabel, just not –_

Then, behind her, the voice she least wanted to hear.

"Digg? Let's get out of here."

She closed her eyes and mentally cursed.

#########

As usual with anything involving Isabel Rochev, the meeting had been only slightly less painful than actual physical torture, a comparison which Oliver unfortunately knew from first-hand experience to be accurate. He'd never felt comfortable being or qualified to be QC's CEO, and Isabel was determined to subtly undermine him in every way she could. If it hadn't been for Felicity's help, he knew he would have sunk long ago.

Home was no refuge, either; his mother, once the family bedrock, was no longer someone he could trust. Nor could he look at Thea without feeling the weight of his mother's secret dragging at him.

An additional layer of foulness lacquered over his mood when he found Digg wasn't there to meet him outside the conference room, as he usually was. The only thing Oliver wanted to do was to get to the foundry and beat something inanimate for a few hours until he burned away the stress.

His work as the Arrow was the one solid, uncomplicated piece of his life anymore. He might be drowning at QC, his home life might be shot, but at least he was keeping the promise he'd made to himself to protect Starling City and the promises he'd made to himself to protect the rest of the team and Thea. It had become harder and harder to drag himself in to QC at all, especially when he could spend longer hours at night cleaning up the city and using the days for sleep and for Sara. As the Arrow, at least, he was making a difference for the better.

When he stepped out of the elevator, he heard the deep rumble of Digg's voice coming from Felicity's office. As he approached, he saw Felicity wearing jeans of all things – he hadn't even known she _had_ a pair of jeans – standing next to a tall, solidly built man in a brown leather motorcycle jacket who was talking to Digg. Digg, he noticed, looked like a kid who'd been told Christmas was coming two months early and all his favorite sports heroes would be at Christmas dinner, to boot. Oliver frowned. Who was this guy?

"Digg?" he called. "Let's get out of here."

Then the man standing beside Felicity turned to face him, and Oliver froze.

_Fuck. I should have known there was another way for everything to go to hell. _

########

Felicity turned, pasting on a bright smile as Oliver strode in. He spared her a brief, quizzical glance, then turned his attention to Steve. Though his expression only shifted from puzzled to blandly polite, he didn't so much stop as freeze, a predator checking out a competitor on his turf before deciding a plan of attack. From the tension rolling off him, Felicity suspected he was holding back Angry Face with an effort. Tough.

"Steve, this is my boss, Oliver Queen. Oliver, Steve Rogers. We were just leaving. As in, _now_."

Oliver extended his hand in best prep school fashion and shook Steve's. Steve nodded cordially, the gesture as crisp and militarily professional as the salute he'd given Digg. If Oliver had tried the crushing grip technique, he gave no sign. She wondered if Oliver had actually had the sense not to try or if he had and Steve hadn't noticed or was too polite to comment. Oliver switched his attention back to her, smiling as sincerely as an approaching barracuda trying not to scare off its lunch.

"Can I..._talk_ to you a moment, Felicity?"

Felicity shot an accusing glare at Digg, who had the grace to look abashed. _Cool breeze. Right._ She touched Steve's hand apologetically and tried not to shatter her teeth gritting them as Oliver took her arm to guide her into the office. What was so important it couldn't wait?

#######

Oliver had guided her by the elbow or arm a hundred times before and never thought a thing about it. He didn't now until she scowled. Since she didn't pull away, he didn't think she was doing it because he was touching her, but rather, because she didn't want to talk just now. Too bad. He didn't want to, either, and really not about this, not in front of Rogers, but he didn't have a choice.

Worse, though Rogers resumed his conversation with Digg, Oliver noticed the other man's jaw tense as he took in Felicity's reaction. Well-intentioned though his concern was, in Oliver's current mood, it was still one judgmental jaw he wouldn't mind finding a way to break.

He drew Felicity back behind his desk, annoyed afresh that he had to half tow her. It didn't help that he could feel Rogers' eyes on him the whole time. He didn't dare not bring her back as far as he could, though. For all he knew, that super serum had given the guy the kind of hearing that could hear silent dog whistles or some other equally improved and annoying sensory ability. Just in case lip reading was also one of Rogers' talents, he maneuvered them so Rogers couldn't see them talking. He lowered his voice to a whisper.

"You want to tell me what Captain Amazing is doing in my office?"

Felicity's eyes narrowed. "It's _America_ –" she hissed, stabbing at his chest with her index finger, "—not Amazing. He's here to pick me up for a date. Not that it's your business."

_Deep breath. Keep on smiling._ "Calm down, would you? I got that part, but I'll ask nicely. What the hell is _Captain America_ doing in _my city_?"

"_Your_ city?"

"You know what I mean. The Arrow's city. He's S.H.I.E.L.D., Felicity. Hell, he's why it's _named_ S.H.I.E.L.D. What the hell is he here for?"

She looked blank. "Why should it matter?"

He considered explaining, mentally measured how far away Rogers was and calculated the odds on what he could hear, and thought better of it. "It matters. I can't tell you now, but it does. You have to trust me."

She stared up at him, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. "Why don't you ask him, if you're so curious?"

He caught Rogers' quizzical glance in their direction. He mustered up something which felt slightly more like smile than snarl and spoke between his teeth. "Because it's not exactly a question Oliver Queen, CEO, would have for him, now, is it?"

"But it's a question you want Felicity Smoak, erstwhile executive assistant, to ask for you."

He nodded, still holding onto his semi-smile. "That would be correct."

He groaned inwardly at her answering smile, sweet as poison. The last time he'd seen _that_ particular expression was after he'd dropped the bombshell about changing her job, when she'd asked him if he wanted coffee and he, like an idiot, hadn't immediately responded with _no, of course not, never, wouldn't consider it, thought never crossed my mind._ He _still_ hadn't heard the end about the damn coffee.

"You want me to warn him to take out a vigilante hunting license, too? Make sure he doesn't bag the Arrow's criminal limit for the night before you get a chance to hunt?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he said automatically, and mentally kicked himself. _I'm not going to hear the end about this, either, am I?_

"I can't be," she snapped. "I think you have the market cornered on _ridiculous_ right now. Also, you're working on a majority interest of _paranoid_. And _I_ am making my date wait, thanks to you."

"Felicity." He grabbed her arm. She glared up at him. He spoke quietly, but with all the force he could muster. "There are issues at work here you don't know about, and for that, I'm sorry. I haven't told you because I promised I'd keep them confidential. I'll only tell you it means the safety of a mutual friend I've promised to protect."

"And you complained _I_ don't communicate."

He closed his eyes briefly, forced himself to keep his voice low. "Felicity, like it or not, you're a target because of...the night work." _Because of the Arrow._ "Rogers may be a hero with a grade-A apple pie, aw-shucks reputation, but the man still works for one of the two biggest covert organizations in the world. That's where his loyalty is."

"So you're basically telling me you think the only reason he's asked me out is so he can chat me up to try to get information on you." Her voice was flat.

"I'm saying if he's here in Starling City, it's for a reason, and it's not for his health or the seafood. There's no such thing as a coincidence where S.H.I.E.L.D. is concerned. I'm not...necessarily...saying that's why he's with you, just saying, be careful what you say to him, just in case," he said. Immediately, he wished he hadn't when he saw her eyes darken with hurt and anger. "Look. I'm telling you this because you're my partner. I don't want you used because of that connection. I don't want you hurt and I don't want other people hurt. I promised when you came on board I'd protect you. That's all I'm trying to do."

"Congratulations, Oliver. You're two for two. Shades of Barry." She shook her head. "You're even pushing the same buttons, aren't you? And boy, what a loser Barry turned out to be. Saved your life, made you a mask, helped solve your mystery, all at the expense of almost losing his job. Really, I don't know how we ever survived that kind of threat."

"Damn it, Felicity, I know I was wrong about Barry, but this isn't the same –"

"Good NIGHT, Oliver." _Great. Loud Voice._ The muted buzz of conversation between Digg and Rogers ceased. "I know this is going to really cramp your world view, but why don't you take a few hours to consider the tiny possibility that everything is not all about you?" She stomped away, then turned on her heel, holding up her phone. "Also?" She flicked a finger over the surface, turning it off. "Don't call. Digg and Sara can handle the plans you originally had for tonight, and you know it."

Oliver ground his teeth. Digg was trying to keep from laughing and looked stuffed instead. Rogers...was less amused. Oliver, as another trained fighter, caught the subtle shift in stance from casual to combat ready as the other man glanced from Felicity's upset face to Oliver.

"Is there a problem?"

A polite demand for information, but still a demand, nonetheless. The note of authority grated on Oliver's nerves, not to mention the lack of a _Mr. Queen_ or even acknowledgement as an equal. As if Rogers were addressing a soldier under his command who was out of line, not the CEO of an international corporation who could buy and sell his star-spangled ass a million times over. The calm, implacable look with which Rogers drilled him didn't help, either. A not so subtle signal of _I don't give a damn who you are, disrespect the lady, and I'll see you regret doing so very painfully, son._

The misplaced chivalry raised Oliver's hackles. Felicity wasn't Rogers' responsibility, damn it. She was Oliver's. Just like Roy was, just like Sara and Digg and Thea. He'd promised them his protection. And Oliver Queen wasn't going to fall back into the trap of making promises he couldn't keep to his friends, no matter who he had to go toe to toe with in order to keep his word.

The effort of not meeting the unspoken challenge was tremendous. The Oliver of Lian Yu would have met it, as a competing predator in the same territory. Survival of the fittest. As the Arrow, he would have met it as a threat to the people to whom he'd promised to protect. Felicity. Roy. Digg. Sara.

But Oliver Queen, CEO, the rich man's Lindsay Lohan, wouldn't recognize that kind of threat level. He forced his muscles loose as cotton and pasted on the suitably inane playboy smile that had gotten him through hundreds of social moments.

"Of course not. Sorry to have kept you two."

Felicity icepicked him with a last glare and stalked out, clearly not fazed by either of them, which annoyed him still more. Grabbing Rogers by the hand, she all but dragged him out of the lobby.

He glared at Digg, who was calmly unwrapping a mint. The older man popped the mint into his mouth and crunched it down, unconcerned.

"Well," he observed dryly. "Glad to see the two of you are finally talking."

##########

A/N: My deepest thanks as always to everyone who's written and encouraged and given me kicks in the pants. Also to HoodiesandComputers, LadyofGlencairn and AgeofAquarius for betas (and multiple ones, since I replaced this chapter three times. Sorry, guys) and to srmiller and LadyofGlencairn for patiently reading through the plot synopsis and not snickering at some of the suggested endings.

The Howling Commandoes are the team who helps Steve take on HYDRA in CA: TFA. In fact, Gabe is the third Commando with Steve and Bucky when Bucky falls off the train. He's also one of the three who come crashing in to help shake Steve loose of the Skull towards the end. In the comics, he was known also as an exceptional jazz musician and worked with Fury on S.H.I.E.L.D. for a number of years.

Here's the cool part: I actually headcanoned Digg's relationship back when I was writing Chapter 2. I'd rewatched CA:TFA and really liked the thought that Gabe's experiences could have inspired Digg both to go into the military (and specifically, special forces) and, later, to work with a vigilante superhero himself. Even Digg's love of jazz tied in with it.

So imagine my delight when, a few weeks later, AoS mentioned that Triplett was the 'grandson of a Howling Commando'. That means Jones had at least one daughter; one more wouldn't be too much of a stretch. So, headcanon and multiuniverse though it is, it's actually somewhat supported.

Also: At the end of CA:TFA, the Commandoes raise a toast to the Captain on the day the war ends. I like to think it was a Commando tradition (not uncommon in special units) and Digg grew up seeing Gabe toast the Captain once a year, and that the other Commandoes, wherever they were, did the same. Hey, it's headcanon and I like the thought that Cap's men didn't forget him.

I feel the need to say I am STILL not doing Oliverhate. As much as I want to smack him, I also feel a bit sorry for him. He didn't want to be a CEO; he came back to save people's jobs and the city. He's got no clue how to fix the home situation. He's bungled promises to friends and he is bound and determined not to do so again. Plus, he does a masterful job of being oblivious to the obvious when it comes to how he feels. Problem is, this is *Oliver*, and he does not always approach this the right way.

He has a legit reason (if NOT for the reason he thinks he does. Rest assured, Cap is not a villain here.) His problem, as it so often is, is one he made himself: He's the little boy who cried wolf, and a rather self-centered little boy who's cried wolf, and he's been called on it. And, as usual, Oliver's people skills being what they are, he botched it. That's Oliver for you. But I really felt in character, he would not know how to handle it any other way. 'Trust me while I give you no information at all.' That is Oliver, all over. If it drives us nuts as viewers, what do you think it does for Felicity and Digg at times?

Captain Amazing: Yes, this is a Mystery Men shout-out. Oliver just used it because it was a sarcastic A-word, but you know Felicity thought of the geek ref and the obnoxious superhero in Mystery Men with that name. (And if you haven't seen it, DO: Geoffrey Rush and Eddie Izzard as villains, Janeane Garofalo, Greg Kinnear (as Captain Amazing), William H. Macy, Ben Stiller, Paul Rubens...the list goes on. It's hilarious.

Questions from commenters this answers: Now you know why she had to leave Steve and why she was talking to Roy, right?


End file.
